


like some slowly fading song

by fideliant



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Growing Old Together, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliant/pseuds/fideliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Eggsy and the golden years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like some slowly fading song

**Author's Note:**

> All the MCU goodness in the world to Mags, who met up with me in a little London cafe last September and listened with the patience of a saint for over an hour as I whined lyrical about how this fic would never be a thing, and who also once greeted a guy I know by kicking him in the balls.
> 
> A king-sized jar of Speculoos cookie butter to Winston, who brightened up what would have been a very lonely post-Christmas crash and gave mucho encouragement to finish this story by staying the weekend, even though he really didn't have to.

 

On a brisk autumn day, they go out for a walk in the park.

The afternoon is far from the coldest they’ve experienced, but it would not do to risk coming down with another bout of pneumonia again, so Harry is sure to dress warmly. First a set of flannel thermals, then his day clothes — a plaid shirt with tie and pressed trousers, and the beige cardigan from so many Christmases ago, well-worn and well-loved and mended innumerable times over the years since it’s been gifted to him. He puts on thick socks and combs his thinning hair in the mirror, picks his scarf up off the dresser and looks around the room for his glasses before finding them stashed in his shirt pocket. Padding into the living room, he sees Eggsy where he said he’d be waiting, at the front door with Harry’s coat and scarf and hat in hand.

“All ready, then?” Eggsy asks, and Harry nods at him, smiling because Eggsy looks very handsome in his new bespoke suit and the haircut he got just the other day. Harry wants to reach out and run his fingers through the grey-brown curls, but refrains because he’ll make a mess of them if he does, even though he knows Eggsy won’t mind. Instead, he slips his shoes on and lets Eggsy pop his coat over his shoulders, follows him out their front door.

Journeying to the park normally takes around fifteen minutes, but Harry wants for them to spend more time there so he walks faster than usual, which still isn’t very fast at all but considerably so for a man of eighty-seven years, and they make it there in twelve. The local gardener is tending the flowerbeds near the entrance, watering the daisies and tugging out weeds, and he waves a soil-encrusted glove at them in friendly recognition when they arrive.

They walk on through the park, maintaining a slow, casual stroll. As per the forecast that morning, it’s modestly cloudy but the sun is out, and Harry tips his chin up to enjoy the warmth of it on his wrinkled face, to feel some colour return to his cheeks after so many days of overcast skies. Eggsy points out the flowers of the autumn bloom and Harry takes them in, along with those that have long faded and the bare-branched oaks around them, and when they’ve done a lap around the park they make their way to a familiar bench in front of a too-familiar pond to sit and rest their legs for a while.

Seated next to Eggsy, Harry breathes in, closing his eyes for a moment, and when he blinks them open Eggsy’s holding his hand, like he’s been doing so all along and maybe he has. It’s a bit harder to remember things as they happen, these days, but not while he’s got them in his sights. Like the slow crawl of clouds in the sky and and reedmace bending in the breeze and ripples spreading over the water, like the badling of ducks that waddle past and pause inquisitively, looking over at them for the possibility of stale bread before returning to the pond.

Like Eggsy almost radiant in the mellow sunlight, looking so much younger than his years, and his crow’s feet crinkle as he grins askance at Harry and says, “Just tell me when you’re ready to go, yeah?”

Harry nods and leans into him, resting his head on Eggsy’s shoulder. They put their hands on top of each other, Harry’s own gloved ones between Eggsy’s weathered pair, and Harry doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He listens to the sound of Eggsy’s quiet breathing, to the distant peal of bells carrying on the wind, and his face is half-turned into Eggsy’s neck as they watch the ducks paddle further away, past the water lilies.

He doesn’t want to go. How could he ever, like this?

 

***

 

_Maybe it’s just the fact that they’ve been together for so long, but Eggsy can’t actually remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Harry. There’d been before there was a **them** , of course, and then the long months after when Eggsy would tell himself he didn’t know for sure if he truly loved Harry, even as he’d look back for years to come and realise that he’d always known from the beginning._

_“Shaken, not stirred,” Harry announced as he handed over a second filled martini glass. He sat back in his seat and threaded his fingers in front of him. “I imagine this might be the only way you’ll understand the difference.”_

_“Just so you know, I still think you’re makin’ it up,” Eggsy said, taking a measured sip from the glass he’d been handed. Smacking his lips, he set it down and reached for the first martini that Harry had previously stirred a careful trickle of Vermouth into. “S’the same drink, innit — it don’t matter what you do to it, not like it’s gonna… make, a. Uh.” He frowned into the offending drink, then the shaken one, then back to the glass he was holding. Goddamn it._

_Harry smiled knowingly at him over linked fingers. “Well? What do you think?”_

_Lips pursing, Eggsy picked up the shaken martini as well and and took multiple sips from each one in turn. After a number of increasingly futile back-and-forths, he shrugged and drained both glasses before putting them down on Harry’s bar cart. “I dunno, could be just cause you told me it’d taste different, or somethin’ like that.”_

_“Shaking a martini cools it more quickly than if one were to stir it,” Harry explained, warmly patient as he always was; or rather, as was whenever he was talking to Eggsy. “More air is also introduced into the beverage, which alters the flavour — you found it very slightly sharper in taste, yes?”_

_“Um. Yeah. I guess.” The movement of Harry’s hands as he fixed himself a gin and tonic held Eggsy rapt, and he quickly averted his gaze when Harry looked back up._

_“It’s a subtle difference, yes, but one worth noting nonetheless,” Harry continued. Ice clinked in his glass, and streams of tiny bubbles eddied up through the cocktail. Eggsy stared, more than grateful for the excuse. “The smallest distinctions can be more important than you know. With language, for example — one does not say 'bemused' when they really mean 'amused', just as dusk and sunset are similar but not the same thing. Or say, hmm, let’s see —”_

_“Fancying someone and loving them?” Eggsy mumbled, a touch louder than he’d intended._

_At this, Harry raised his eyebrows and Eggsy felt his stomach churn, worried that he’d just given too much of the game away. But then Harry smiled and said, “Exactly,” as he brought the glass to his lips, and Eggsy thrust his hands into his pockets, unsure whether to be more proud of himself or relieved._

 

***

 

Because they live out in the country now, driving to the shop takes anywhere between well over an hour and three, depending on traffic conditions and how many times they dare defy the speed limit on the M1 motorway. Most days Eggsy transits at the Kingsman mansion and takes the monorail in, Harry knows, and though he’s typically always home by mid-afternoon, it still means Eggsy has to leave the house by seven a.m to be punctual for his regular administrative duties. There aren’t many times during the week where Harry gets to wake up next to Eggsy for that reason.

But on days like today, when Eggsy’s off-duty and Kingsman is able to operate without its Arthur at the helm, Harry loves the mornings for every second that passes from when he opens his eyes to Eggsy, still tucked cosily in beside him. Mouth ajar, breathing noisy, Eggsy’s also drooling slightly on his pillow, and it’s not an altogether unfamiliar sight but a smile tugs at Harry’s mouth all the same.

Eventually, when he’s allowed himself some time to admire the way Eggsy sleeps, Harry shifts nearer and brushes a kiss over Eggsy’s lips. It only takes a second before Eggsy’s smiling into it, against his mouth as he kisses Harry back.

“Morning,” Harry whispers.

“S’too early,” Eggsy mumbles in reply. He doesn’t open his eyes, but under the duvet he slides a hand up Harry’s thigh, coming to rest over his hip. “Go back to sleep.”

Harry puts his hand on top of Eggsy’s. “We should make the most of today, since you’re home.”

“And we will, love.” Yawning widely, Eggsy shifts closer so that he’s sharing Harry’s pillow. “Won’t be able to if you’re knackered by lunchtime, though.”

“Speak for yourself,” Harry scolds, but he’s smiling as he says it. “I really do feel like some breakfast right about now.”

“Mm. Me too.”

“Pancakes, perhaps?”

Eggsy peers back at Harry through a cracked-open eye, a mischievous glint in it. “Extra syrup and raspberries with mine, please and thank you.”

Harry chuckles. Still so cheeky, even after all these years. Amazing, how some things never change. He licks his dry lips and kisses Eggsy again, soft at first and then firm enough to feel the ridges of his front teeth. Closing his eyes and settling back down, Harry curls in a little more against himself and says, “Come and get me when you have them ready, won’t you, darling?”

Though Eggsy’s answering snort signals the shake of his head, there’s nothing but full-flushed affection in it, then the covers are being pushed back and long limbs are being flexed before sliding from linen sheets. Harry tracks the shuffling of indoor slippers from the other side of the bed all the way to the kitchen, muffles his sigh in a smile against his pillow.

 

***

 

_Back when Harry’s bones were young (well, younger than they are now) and he could still field a mean punch, they used to spar with each other whenever they were both in the mansion and had some time between them to kill. It was useful, Harry would tell himself, to constantly refresh his fighting technique when it came to facing opponents fifteen, twenty years his junior. Eggsy was spry and tough at roughly half Harry’s age, the perfect sparring partner in that regard, even if it was occasionally difficult to concentrate on proper footwork with the panting, eager, sweat-sheened mess their friendly matches always made of the boy._

_“Did you just let me win?” Eggsy gasped, after a particularly gruelling session. They were both seated on the dojo floor, legs splayed, palms behind them as their breaths slowly caught up to the intensity of their match._

_Harry laughed and swabbed the perspiration from his neck. Christ, what a workout. “You really should have more faith in your own abilities,” he said, shaking his head._

_“What makes you think I don’t?” Eggsy returned with a cocky grin. He exhaled heavily and brought his legs up in one straggling motion, knees pressed against his heaving ribs. Easy to forget how young he was at times, Harry thought. “But come on, Hars. How’m I ever gonna know I’ve beaten you for reals if you ain’t always coming at me with everything you’ve got?”_

_“I’m frankly offended you’d think that I would ever have it in me to take it easy on you, Eggsy,” Harry said, peeling off his protective gloves and pulling his bruised knuckles free. His shirt was soaked through, as was most of his track pants, and he could feel aches and bruises from their fight forming already. “That and the insinuation that you’d ever best me, of course.”_

_“I see, so it’s gonna be like that, eh?” Eggsy laughed as he tipped his head back, baring the glistening skin of his throat, and. Well. Harry distracted himself by balling his gloves up and stuffing them as deep into his pocket as they would go, and heard Eggsy continue, “You just wait, one of these days when you’re all old and wrinkly I’m gonna bowl you over, and you ain’t gonna know what even hit you…”_

_“You’d hit a poor, helpless old man?” Harry badgered. “How very cruel of you.”_

_“Oh, don’t you give me that bollocks — Rottie thought you were a poor helpless old man, didn’t he, and look what that got him.”_

_“At least you’re wise enough to learn from other peoples’ mistakes,” Harry said primly. Eggsy had rolled his eyes at that, a grudging smile curving his jaw, and flicked sweat at Harry with his fingers, as though that was something that would disgust or plague him. Responding in kind earned an appalled look and an, “Eurrgh, gross!” as Eggsy scrambled to avoid being hit, and Harry flopped backwards, closing his eyes against the glare of the overhead lights, his chest rising with a strange sense of contentedness._

 

***

 

Breakfast is one of the few times of day that the only radio they still own gets used. It sits on their kitchen counter, plugged into the wall socket behind the breadbox, and the frequency is never changed from the one that gives them BBC Radio Three. Eggsy doesn’t really listen to it himself, but sometimes he comes home to a symphonic orchestra piping along with whatever stew or curry Harry’s making for dinner, and it’s more force of habit that has Eggsy turning it on first thing every morning.

The eight a.m weekend programme is airing when he flicks the power switch on, so Italian opera is what fills the kitchen as Eggsy makes pancakes and lays the table and brews a pot of English Breakfast. He’s just about done as the opera concludes its first act, which is also when he turns from the kitchen counter to find Harry doddering into the kitchen.

“Thought you were going to wait for me to come get you,” Eggsy says, setting down the master stack of pancakes and pulling Harry’s chair out for him.

Harry shrugs and sits down. “What can I say? One should always come running when there are pancakes to be had.”

“Don’t think you’ve ever taught me that one before,” Eggsy teases as he takes his own seat and pours out the tea.

“Hardly needs saying, does it?” Harry looks over at the radio, lets out an appreciative hum. “They’ve got _Tosca_ on, how lovely.”

“Hm.” Two cups of tea — one with milk and sugar, the other, just milk. Eggsy nudges the one without sugar across the table and claims his own. He stirs, blows gently on the wisps of steam curling from his tea and smiles stupidly, because Harry’s a dear sight in his pyjamas and dressing robe and Eggsy just can’t bloody help himself, can he?

“What?” Now Harry’s smiling too, a curious little lift to the wrinkled corners of his mouth. “Have I got something on my face?”

“No, no, it’s just,” Eggsy shakes his head, and god, it’s been a while since he’s felt this boyishly nebbish about anything. He puts his cup in its saucer so he can reach across the table and twine their fingers together. He says, “ _You_ look really lovely, today.”

And Harry chuckles like it’s the most flattering thing he’s ever heard, so soft and fond that it leaves Eggsy in whole-souled awe, quite possibly for the millionth time in his life, of what it is to love and be loved by this wonderful, wonderful man. Even after so long it’s hard, sometimes, not to be overwhelmed by everything that Harry means to him and can make him feel.

“I love you,” Harry says, and it may well be the millionth time he’s saying it, but the words tilt Eggsy’s heart just the same.

(Like so many other things between them this hardly needs saying, of course, but that’s never stopped them for more than thirty years and they’re certainly not about to start.)

 

***

 

_The very first time was to defuse an argument, a few weeks after what Harry had pegged as a fairly routine mission. Granted, the pilfered intel he’d sent Eggsy out for was recovered according to plan, but whatever merit that might have earned anyone was inevitably deepsixed by having to scramble an emergency medivac out of backend Siberia two hours after their last confirmed transmission._

_In the aftermath of a whole night’s worth of sleeplessness and the sickening prospect of passing round crystal glasses browned with brandy, it took ten days in the Kingsman infirmary for Eggsy to regain consciousness, and another ten before he was deemed sufficiently lucid and fit for debriefing. Standing by his hospital bed, clipboard in hand, Harry kept his words close to the report on the display screen and away from everything he couldn’t bring himself to say to the robed, sulking, gorgeously alive boy next to him over the last three weeks. After all that Eggsy had just been put through, inflicting even the least egregious of Harry’s worry-fuelled promulgations on him just wouldn’t do._

_“Really, Eggsy,” Harry said at the end of the briefing. He flicked the screen off and set the clipboard aside, then took the chair at Eggsy’s bedside. “You must learn to be more careful, next time.”_

_“Mmf.” Eggsy shrugged without facing Harry, a defiant set to his bandaged shoulders._

_Sighing, Harry leaned closer and put a hand on the bed railing. “Eggsy —”_

_“Yeah, alright, okay,” Eggsy snapped, still determinedly looking the other way. “Got it, I’ll be more careful next time, thanks a bunch for the advice. You can piss off now.”_

_Ah. Harry waited, then asked, “Is something the matter, Eggsy?”_

_A dismissive snort. “What was your first fuckin’ clue,” Eggsy growled. He folded his arms across his chest. “As if it ain’t bad enough that I fucked up, and here you are rubbing it in, like. Fuck off.”_

_Harry frowned. “It was not my intention to… rub it in. I’m merely worried for you, that’s all.”_

_“That right? What, now you think I can’t look after myself, is that it?”_

_“That’s not what I’m saying,” Harry said, wishing that it wasn’t so easy to mask how the bitterness of Eggsy’s tone was affecting him. “You mustn’t feel that I think any less of you because this happened, Eggsy. It’s not your fault you got injured, you know that.”_

_Eggsy’s waspish glare lasted all of a second before he rolled his eyes and turned away again. “Whatever. I don’t expect you to understand, it’s not like you care, anyway —”_

_“Of course I care.” An immediate answer, if unbidden._

_Eggsy let out a bark of laughter, harsh and humourless. “You lot should’ve just let me die, honestly,” he muttered, his face twisting up into a rictus of pure mutiny._

_Now Harry was angry. “Don’t say that,” he said severely. “You can’t possibly mean that, you’re just upset —”_

_“Why do you care?” Eggsy demanded, rounding on Harry, and there were tears, now, shining in his eyes. “I never fucking asked you to, I didn’t, I don’t want you to care none about me, so why the **fuck** , why d’you think you can just —”_

_“Because, dear boy,” Harry said, and heaven help him, he already felt unbearably foolish for what he was about to do. He waited until he had Eggsy’s full attention, then inclined his head and finished in an even tone, like it was the simplest, most obvious thing in the world, “I’m in love with you.”_

_Eggsy’s mouth fell open. Harry held his thunderstruck look, his wide green eyes, unsure of what to expect. This was far from ideal circumstances and definitely not at all how he’d envisioned it, with much less romance and flowers and candlelit dinner, but perhaps, indelicacy, just this once. He watched on as Eggsy continued to gape wordlessly, all of his anger gone, and waited. After what felt like the longest while, Eggsy pressed his lips firmly together and stared down into his lap, a flare of furious colour flushing his cheeks. His expression was unreadable._

_The yawning silence between them stretched on for yet another minute. Harry breathed in, slow and deep, and exhaled in a self-admonishing sigh. Clearly, a tactical miscalculation. He smoothed down his jacket and picked up his umbrella, murmured as he uncrossed his legs to get to his feet, “I’m sorry, that was… most inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t have, I’ll just, hm. Never mind, now if you’ll excuse me —”_

_“Say that again.”_

_Already half-standing up, Harry stopped in his tracks. “I beg your pardon?”_

_Eggsy was looking at him again, not with anger or wariness or disbelief, but the solid-eyed gaze of the resolute, of someone who knew exactly what he just heard. But still: “Say that again so I’ll know if you’re taking the piss.”_

_Of course. A moment’s hesitation, then Harry smiled and bent down, murmured, “I love you,” and kissed him once, twice, and let Eggsy tow him in by the tie for a third, a fourth, and by the seventh kiss they’d exchanged it became impossible to tell which one of them was doing it._

_“Okay,” Eggsy said, when Harry eventually pulled back. He sounded breathless, almost bewildered, but his eyes were large and bright with unmistakable mirth. “Okay. I think I can work with that.”_

 

***

 

November is their favourite month.

As the days grow colder and the nights grow longer they spend more time indoors, curled up in their living room with a duvet and a generous supply of Harry’s favourite ginseng tea. When they’re not in front of their fireplace or on the couch watching telly, Eggsy takes it upon himself to attack the perpetually-growing collection of books Harry’s amassed from the local charity shops and flea markets — with Harry’s eyesight the way it is Eggsy’s told him umpteen times to get stronger glasses or stick with audiobooks, but old habits die hard, he supposes. He reads to Harry most evenings, and some mornings, too.

They still go for walks whenever the sun is out, which isn’t very often but enough to keep Harry as active as he is able. On days where Harry’s hip decides to act up more than usual they do laps around their front garden instead, until Harry gets tired or the temptation of warmth becomes too great and lures them back inside. Then there is more tea, more books, or one of them will suggest a movie they’ve been meaning to watch, but more often than not Harry ends up napping while Eggsy works from his study, and they have to make supper instead of dinner for time having slipped away from both of them.

It’s a far cry from when he used to jet around saving the world, but that’s alright, Harry supposes. He’s more than satisfied with making the most of their own, while he can.

 

***

 

_For two people in their line of work they dated with astonishing frequency — Harry as Arthur hardly ever left London, but Eggsy as Galahad had his missions, not to mention a family still in the process of adjusting to their new life in the city. Nevertheless, Eggsy hewed out time where none permitted, from careful planning and rota swaps and many a solid favour owed to Roxy, and no longer than a fortnight went by without at least one full day spent with Harry. They had lunch dates and shopping excursions, whisky tastings and suit fittings, and every once in a while just simple, charming little picnics in St James’ Park with sunglasses, good wine, and hours upon hours of lazing in the sun like basking lizards, not moving at all._

_This was the extent of their activities together, at the beginning. Owing to how busy they both were liable to become at any given moment, they rarely ever made plans in advance for holidays outside of England. Official holidays, so to speak. It wasn’t long before Harry started turning up at the end of Eggsy’s missions unannounced, with oddly specific knowledge of the most opportune locations that happened to be nearby. Kyoto, after a foiled arms deal in Nagoya. Santorini, following the breakup of a pillaging band of Mediterranean pirates. Paris, where there hadn’t been a mission waiting at the train station for Eggsy, but rather a taxi containing one dapper, smiling Harry Hart._

_“I take it neither of us are actually supposed to be here,” Eggsy said that night as they walked apace of each other through the city, frosty-breathed, their coats drawn tight in the early January chill. Around them the streets shimmered softly from the evening rain and lampposts, and not too far away the looming monolith of the Eiffel Tower stood aglow against the dark sky._

_Harry hummed, a considering noise. “Strictly speaking, no.”_

_“And unstrictly speaking?”_

_Harry smiled dazzlingly at Eggsy. “From my understanding, you were told to report here and await further instructions, were you not? I do believe you have yet to be debriefed as to what you’ve been sent here to accomplish.”_

_“True, that.” Grinning in reply, Eggsy tapped his chin with a finger and pretended to have a think. “Lemme try and guess what it could be, though — is it: have as good a time as possible with very, very sexy handler?”_

_“Hm, close, but not quite. You’re on the right track, I can tell you that much.”_

_“Good enough for me.” They turned a corner and the Seine opened up before them, wide and glittering as it unspooled further into Paris. Eggsy’s breath silvered in the cold, and he sidled closer to Harry, warming his hands in his coat pockets. “It’s really bloody nice here, y’know.”_

_“It really is,” Harry agreed._

_Eggsy bumped his shoulder against Harry’s, into the comfort of his solid, reassuring presence. “We should come back when we get married, don’t you think?”_

_Harry blinked, clearly intrigued for some reason. “You… you would like to get married?”_

_“Well, yeah. Course I do.” On a whim, Eggsy slipped his hand into the crook of Harry’s elbow to link their arms, edging in closer until their thighs were jostling. He mooned up at Harry, a besotted smile stretching his face, and all of a sudden felt like the lucky, lovestruck fool that he was. “Why? Is that so surprising to you?”_

_A returned smile, a tiny shake of his head and an even tinier sigh, then Harry’s lips were warm at Eggsy’s temple and his breath sculpted the side of Eggsy’s face as he said, “Not at all, darling. I’m just happy to hear that.”_

 

***

 

It’s late at night when Harry is woken by the front door opening and closing. Lying in bed, he remains where he is and listens to the sounds of movement in the hallway outside. The clatter of keys on hard wood. Weary feet, freed of expensive shoes, lumbering from the foyer and past their bedroom, to the kitchen. Harry waits until he hears the clumsy drag of a chair against linoleum before getting up and out of bed, reaching for his walking stick as he casts a glance at the clock on their bedside table. A quarter to one.

He finds Eggsy sitting in the kitchen, glasses off, elbows on their dining table and his face in his hands. Harry raps the edge of the doorframe with his cane before coming in and Eggsy looks at him soberly, eyes redder than what tiredness would normally be able to account for.

“Woke you up, didn’t I,” Eggsy mutters.

Hobbling next to him, Harry leans on his cane to rub a soothing palm between Eggsy’s shoulder blades. “I don’t sleep as soundly as I do without you.”

“Sorry.”

“Eggsy, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I,” Eggsy blows out a shaky breath that’s almost a laugh and he shakes his head, like he’s trying to convince himself as well. Harry tries to remember the last time either of them have ever hid anything from the other and can’t. They’ve never had any cause to, not for a long, long time.

“Eggsy,” Harry says again, softer, gentler, kinder.

This does seem to work, because Eggsy scrubs at his face with a steady palm and visibly collects himself. “No, it’s not nothing, it’s just,” he says, and a tremor in his voice rises and breaks. “We lost Geraint, today.”

Oh. _Oh_. Harry squeezes Eggsy’s shoulder and thinks about the lad Eggsy had brought home with him last year. He remembers a handsome, spirited youth in his prime, with dreams of a better life for two younger siblings despite a less than happy upbringing. He remembers sharp wits and an enthused handshake and nothing but earnestness in what a pleasure it was, Mr Hart, to finally meet the man who taught Arthur, sorry, _Gary_ everything he knew about being a Kingsman. And more than anything else, Harry remembers a slapdash smile and a heart of gold, remembers seeing so much of his own beloved in the boy that it was easy to figure what had drawn Eggsy to him in the first place, to needle Eggsy then with the prospect of leaving him for a stronger, younger lover.

Now, Eggsy won’t look at him as his face crumples with something heavier than exhaustion or guilt, and Harry understands more than anyone else ever could. He doesn’t leave, just shuffles wordlessly to the liquor cabinet and selects an unopened bottle of Talisker 25 and cracks the seal. He pulls up the chair next to Eggsy and lowers himself into it, the single malt already a blaze of heat at the back of his throat, and they say nothing else to each other as the whisky changes hands between them.

 

***

 

_It wasn’t that they never thought to talk about it. Eighteen months into Eggsy’s tenure as the new Galahad and they were all gathered around the same table drinking the same brandy, once again, in memory of yet another of their fallen. At thirty-four, Bedivere was by no means one of their youngest Kingsmen, but young enough for his death to ring more raw than any other thus far, for it to mean too much. After they’d raised a toast in solemn unison, Eggsy had stared into his glass for a second, at his reflection on the surface of the amber liquid, before knocking it back in a single gulp._

_“Could be me next, couldn’t it,” Eggsy murmured later, as they stood outside the shop, waiting for their taxis._

_Next to him, Harry stiffened, disquiet wiping across his face for an instant before he was shaking his head, tutting in stern disapproval. “Good grief, Eggsy. Of all the things that you could’ve —”_

_“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Eggsy fiddled with his umbrella, scuffing the tip in aimless circles on the pavement. “But it could be me, someday. It could.”_

_“I’d really rather we not have this conversation now, if it’s all the same to you,” Harry sighed, checking his watch and looking up and down the road. “Goodness knows we’ve had our fill of that sort of thing for today. Now, we should have one arriving very soon —”_

_“You know what, it’s not, actually,” Eggsy said, turning to look Harry in the face. “Look, I get it. I don’t like thinking about it none either, but just ‘cause it’s difficult it don’t mean we can pretend like it’s something that’s never gonna happen.”_

_“Yes, but — oh, for Christ’s sake. We’re not pretending anything.”_

_“Then why d’you think this isn’t important, then? Why is it that you —”_

_“I’ve never once said it wasn’t important,” Harry snapped, an angry turn to his mouth. “Don’t you dare —”_

_“Don’t I dare what, Harry?” Eggsy demanded, just a step down from shouting, fingers curled tight around the handle of his umbrella. “Don’t I dare worry how my mum’s supposed to deal with me dying on her like my dad? And what about Daisy? What about you?”_

_“Stop it, Eggsy.” If Harry’s forbidding look brooked no argument at all, his tone brooked less still. “Stop it. It’s been a long day, you’re tired, we’ll talk more about this when we’re both thinking straight again.”_

_“Fuck off with that. I mean it, don’t give me that bullshit, don’t tell me I’m not thinking straight, you prick —”_

_“If you would just calm down and listen to me…!”_

_“Even if you don’t give a rat’s arse about what’s gonna happen if I die, maybe try and think about the fact that I do, okay?”_

_As soon as Eggsy said it he immediately wished that he hadn’t. Harry’s face flashed from shock to anger, anger to confusion, confusion to hurt before finally settling on a cool, thin-lipped inexpressiveness. Jaw set, eyes steely, his look was beyond withering but Eggsy kept staring, kept trying to get himself to apologise until the first of their taxis came puttering to a halt in front of them._

_“Well,” Harry said, low as he pulled the passenger door open without looking away from Eggsy. “If that’s what you think.”_

_And Eggsy stood on the roadside watching the taxi drive away, alone and colder than he’d been not moments ago._

 

***

 

“We’ve made it, then,” Eggsy whispers, between tender kisses in bed. “The two of us.”

“How do you mean?” Harry murmurs. They’re both naked and very, very drunk from the whisky, and between that and all the kissing they’ve whiled away the greater part of an hour with, he almost can’t feel his teeth. His remaining teeth, anyway.

“You and me. Here. Together.”

“Mm.” Harry licks his lips and leans up to kiss Eggsy’s left eyelid, then his right. If he’s not quite following, it’s because he’s much more inebriated than a man his age should be, or just that addled with what he feels for the love of his life. It certainly wouldn’t be a first for him, in either case. “Indeed we have.”

“Guess we spent all those years worrying for nothing, huh?”

Harry smiles. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s made you more careful with your work, has it not?”

“More than you’ve been, I should think,” Eggsy mumbles, every word slurring into the next.

“I haven’t a clue what you might possibly mean,” Harry says, and Eggsy laughs softly, eyes unfocused and hazy.

“S’good though, isn’t it, that we’ve gotten this far,” he drowses, and seems to nod off for a moment before he blinks himself awake again. They both really should go to sleep right about now, but Harry weaves his knobbly fingers into Eggsy’s hair and waits, listens. “Used to think that I, you would’ve had to have a drink — for me. By now.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he lets his hand track down Eggsy’s bare back instead, to take him round the waist. How many times has it been that he’s had Eggsy in his arms like this, held him close and pressed kisses to his face, all the while thinking, _you can’t die before me?_ Countless times, far more than memory serves. But none of that matters now. This is all he’s ever dared to hope for, where they are now, and yet.

And yet.

“I always wondered who would come,” Eggsy says, quietly contemplative. “To my funeral, I mean. Who would even bother showing up. You would’ve been there, wouldn’t you Harry?”

A knot forming in his throat, Harry nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Eggsy grins and runs a finger across Harry’s cheek, rasping through the untrimmed whiskers there. “Looks like you won’t ever have to, now.”

“No, I won’t,” Harry agrees and doesn’t finish the rest of that sentence, letting his eyes fall shut. He thinks he feels his hands tremble, and when he opens his eyes Eggsy’s joking smile is gone entirely, an aghast look in its place, silent realisation written all over his face. Just like that, there’s nothing more to be said and nothing more that Harry wants to hear, so he presses his nose into Eggsy’s chest and falls asleep breathing the warmth of his skin.

 

***

 

_Back then, there was sex, and then there was makeup sex._

_Harry pressed Eggsy to the bed, looming over him, and Eggsy had just enough time for a snatched breath before Harry swooped down to kiss him, tongue licking inside, their chins bumping, Harry’s prickly stubble a constant scrape at his lower lip as Eggsy kissed back, hot and brazen and hungry for it. He twisted his wrists in the vicegrip Harry had clamped onto them; Harry gripped even harder, and god Eggsy hoped that would leave bruises to touch his fingers to and remember this later, tomorrow, in a couple of days, in a week from now. Against him, Harry ground down as he kissed Eggsy’s jaw, his tented erection jabbing Eggsy in the hip, and Eggsy shuddered and bucked up into him, leg jack-knifing until his knee hit Harry’s thigh, which was all it took for Harry to make an angry, guttural noise and shove Eggsy down again with his weight, breath flocking hot and damp down the front of Eggsy’s quivering throat._

_“I, fuck,” Eggsy panted, his heart slamming full throttle against his ribs, and there were things he still needed to say, apologies that Harry hadn’t heard yet, but then Harry kissed him again like he was trying to smother Eggsy, or consume him whole, and it was all Eggsy could do not to cry, to twist his leg around Harry’s calf and bite the inside of his cheek and try to remember to breathe. His skin burned where Harry kissed and sucked and bit, and Eggsy could barely keep his eyes open, too wrapped up in a furl of heat and desperate arousal, spreading his arms and stretching himself out, every muscle pulled taut as a drawn bowstring. When Harry reached down to tear at his clothes, to peel Eggsy’s shirt back and yank his trousers open, Eggsy pawed back with maladroit hands to return the favour, but only got so far as the third button on Harry’s untucked shirt before his wrists were pinned above his head again and Harry’s sumptuous mouth was sealed over his._

_“Shh,” Harry rumbled, low and menacing as an oncoming storm, and it may as well have been for how Eggsy couldn’t stop shaking, every inch of him thunder-quaked and electric, tingling with staticky bursts of pleasure that knocked the air from his lungs in halting staccato breaths. His cock, sprung free, slicked a glistening trail up the seat of Harry’s trousers as Eggsy arched up, yearning for friction, and Harry took him in hand, wrapping his fingers firmly around Eggsy to squeeze him lightly at the base._

_“Nghh,” Eggsy whimpered, and all of it was good, so good, thrusting into Harry’s fist as Harry sucked a line of kisses down his chest, nosed at a nipple and flicked his tongue against it. He didn’t know what he wanted Harry to do to him, but Eggsy wanted it **now** , and, fuck, Harry’s mouth, the things Eggsy would do for that mouth, for Harry, for them to never be forced apart again. Harry slid against him, rubbing the coarse hairs at his navel over the swollen head of Eggsy’s cock, and in that instant Eggsy was gone, gasping through clenched teeth as he pulsed out sticky onto Harry’s heaving stomach._

_Forgiveness always came easy between them, among other things._

 

***

 

Two weeks before Christmas, they get an official-looking envelope in the mail along with the morning post.

“End-of-year dinner for Cabinet ministers,” Eggsy announces, when he’s read the letter through at breakfast. “Chequers. Daisy’s got us down for her plus-ones.”

“What about Vishal?” Harry asks as he swipes a piece of toast with butter. “Is he not going with her?”

“Spouses don’t count as plus-ones.” He helps himself to a blueberry muffin and pops it into pieces with a fork, eyeing Harry watchfully over the rim of his glasses. “You’re putting too much butter on that, you’ll give yourself a coronary.”

“I like butter,” Harry says simply, using the crust of his toast to wipe the knife clean and taking a bite. He chews and swallows, reaches for his softboiled egg and arms himself with a teaspoon to tap it open. “I suppose we’ll have to go.”

“You don’t want to?” Eggsy asks, surprised.

“I wouldn’t consider it a great loss if we didn’t,” Harry allows.

“Oh, come now, Harry. I think it could be rather fun.”

“I’ve never personally known a single politician whom I’ve been able to trust as far as I can throw them —”

“Aw, don’t let Daisy catch you saying that.” Eggsy brandishes his fork and a wry grin at Harry. “She’ll be heartbroken.”

“— with one exception,” Harry finishes with a smile. “Who so happens to doing a splendid job as Education Secretary, in my opinion.”

“Good to hear,” Eggsy says, nodding. “You can tell her that yourself next week.”

Harry fathoms the milky depths of his teacup, and after some thought, stirs half a sugar cube into it. “If it’ll make her happy.”

“I’m sure it will.” Harry still looks thoroughly insouciant, so Eggsy has a sip of tea and plays his trump card, “And it’s black tie, so we’ll get to dress up. I was thinking we could go have new suits made. Been a while since we’ve done that.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches upwards. A spark of fresh interest, of something furtive and considering flickering at the back of his eyes.

“Well, alright then. But if anyone mistakes me for her grandfather again I shan’t be responsible for what happens.”

 

***

 

_One thing that Eggsy never could get used to was Harry’s insistence on dragging him along to functions they both knew that Eggsy wouldn’t enjoy. Museum exhibits were generally alright, art auctions by Christie’s bordering on tolerable, but now and then Harry would take him out to see Puccini at the Royal Opera House, or some old Shakespearean play Eggsy didn’t want to go for, but would let himself be talked into anyway because he was a weak, weak fool when it came to pleasing Harry Hart._

_It probably took longer than it should have for Eggsy to realise that the events themselves were never truly the point._

_“Steady, ahh, steady,” Harry gasped, hands tangling in Eggsy’s hair, his face flushed and lovely under the tungsten lights of the cubicle they were both wedged into. “Six more minutes. Until… until the intermission is over.”_

_Kneeling astride the toilet bowl with his face buried in Harry’s lap, Eggsy smiled around his cock and took him even deeper. They could have two minutes to finish and it’d be all the time he needed._

 

***

 

The dinner turns out far less unsavoury than Harry thought it would be. There’s a good deal of politicking throughout — passive-aggressive jibes and swipes at the Opposition, cheap shots and unfunny jokes that make Harry ever so thankful he never thought to pursue a career in government — but an equally good deal of fine dining, lighthearted banter, and more than enough champagne for everyone to drink their fill and then some. Two seats to his left, Daisy Unwin looks a lush belle in her makeup and dress, and her cheeks redden with laughter as she beckons a nearby waiter to top up her brother’s glass again.

_Help me_ , Eggsy mouths. It’s his fifth glass of champagne — they’re only on their third course with four more to go before dessert, so Harry shakes his head and shrugs very slightly, doing his best not to smile. _On your own there, I’m afraid._

At the end of dinner, they’re invited into the drawing room along with the other guests for more drinks and party favours from the Prime Minister. Harry endures the halfhearted mingling for about an hour, at which point the room seems to get warmer and stuffier, almost uncomfortably so. There’s a mild burning feeling in his upper abdomen, like he’s getting a bit of acid indigestion from that last piece of lemon treacle tart, and Harry decides to step out for some air without Eggsy, who’s in the middle of a discussion about likely new spring fashions on Savile Row with the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

The courtyard air is cool and moist with snow, and Harry draws a deep breath of it in, thumping at his chest with a closed fist to dispel his heartburn. It doesn’t work, but the relief of getting outside is a different comfort of its own, if but a small one. He looks out over the mansion grounds, the manicured lawns and trimmed hedges, and can’t help but miss Kingsman HQ a little. Above him the sky is moonless but speckled with stars, and a chilly breeze swoops down unseen, raising hairs on the back of his neck.

He is alone, but not for very long, and fortunately so.

“Harry,” Eggsy calls from the door, behind him. “You alright there?”

Harry wants to nod and answer in the affirmative as Eggsy’s arm slides around his waist, only — the burning sensation has become worse, an insidious quality to it now, spreading up through his sternum and over his collarbones and down into his upper arm, just the left one. Tight, like he’s got something heavy sitting on his chest, and the way his heart has started racing can be no coincidence. None of it hurts, not yet, but a lifetime of experience in pain forewarns Harry to the eventuality of it.

Oh, _no_.

“Should have told me you were coming out here, I’d have come with you if you wanted some —” Mid-sentence, Eggsy’s smile falls away, and he moves to take Harry cautiously by the shoulders. “Harry? Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry swallows weakly. His jaw aches, and when he speaks, it’s barely above a whisper for how acutely aware he is of every breath he’s taking. “I think… I might be having a heart attack.”

Though it’s hard to make out Eggsy’s face in the dim light, it’s impossible to mistake his sudden ashen look for anything else, or the fear trying to rise in his eyes. With that, Eggsy doesn’t probe or question any further, just wraps one bracing arm around Harry and escorts him back inside, where he summons the doctor on duty and sits holding Harry’s hands as they wait for the ambulance to arrive.

 

***

 

_While there were many things Eggsy missed about being an active field agent, having to stare death in the face on a semi-regular basis was not one of them. Don’t get him wrong — he enjoyed the thrill and adrenaline surge only combat could bring as much as the next Kingsman, but the occasional instance of nearly dying during or after an assignment was an occupational hazard he really could have done without._

_“I’ve been thinking,” Harry said, wheeling Eggsy out of the Kingsman infirmary for the second time that year._

_Eggsy tipped his head back to look up at Harry. “You’ve been thinking what?”_

_There was a pause. Harry met his eyes briefly before looking straight ahead again. He shrugged, an uncharacteristic gesture for him. “A number of things.”_

_“Like?”_

_“Like.” Slowing down, Harry seemed to ponder on it a little more. “How we’re going to continue from here, mainly. With all these missions you’re going on —”_

_“Missions that you give me,” Eggsy reminded him._

_“Yes, fine,” Harry sighed. “And it’s all been rather dangerous for you as of late, hasn’t it, so I was thinking —”_

_“Hold up.” Eggsy grabbed at his wheelchair tires, stopping it from moving forward. He twisted around and fixed Harry with a distrustful glare. “If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, then don’t.”_

_A lifted eyebrow. “What do you think I’m going to say?”_

_“That I should take a break from fieldwork, or you’re only gonna give me all the easy stuff to do from now on.” Eggsy angled his face upward, daring Harry to prove him wrong. “Am I right?”_

_Harry crossed his arms. “No.”_

_Eggsy blinked. “Okay,” he said slowly, “Then what were you actually going to say?”_

_“That you were right. Well, not right now, but before, with our… disagreement.” Harry cleared his throat and came round to the front so Eggsy didn’t have to keep contorting himself for them to carry on speaking. “You will always be in danger so long as you are a Kingsman, but I knew that when I nominated you as my candidate. I still would have, had I also known then what I know now. Maybe more so. And I would never dream of asking you to give this up. So I’ve decided that it would be better if I stopped thinking so much about trying to change what things could be for us in the future and worked more on changing them as they are for us, now.”_

_“Um.” Eggsy fidgeted in his wheelchair, not sure how to respond. “You going anywhere with this? ‘Cause I don’t see what —”_

_“What I’m saying is,” Harry removed something from the inner pocket of his jacket, getting down on a bent knee as he did, and he held up the small box in one hand, opening it with the other to reveal the gleaming silver band inside, “Perhaps it would be most prudent if we started with this.”_

***

 

The room Harry wakes in is cold, but the hand clasping his leaks warmth under the blanket that’s draped over him. It’s a struggle to stay conscious, but Harry forces heavy eyes open and blinks up at the dark ceiling. Sounds of the hospital surround him — the beeping of the heart rate monitor, oxygen hissing through tubes — but the only one he focuses on is the muffled snoring coming from the chair next to his bed. Eggsy’s dozing with his cheek propped up on his knuckles, and when Harry gives his hand a feeble squeeze, he wakes with a start and looks immediately to Harry.

“Thank fuck,” Eggsy breathes, then shakes his head and grimaces. “I mean, thank goodness. You’re awake.”

Harry tries to say something back, anything, but can’t summon up the energy for words just yet. He’s only just keeping his eyes open, and even so he can feel constant sneaker waves of exhaustion trying to press them shut again, drag him back down.

“Are you alright? How are you feeling?” Eggsy leans forward. There are shadows under his eyes that Harry doesn’t remember, and pressure marks on his arm that would fit the bed railings perfectly. “Can you hear me, Harry?”

Breathing takes a surprising amount of strength, as does shifting his head on the pillow to render Eggsy more clearly in his sights. His throat parched with disuse and drugs, Harry mouths noiseless words until he finally, finally manages the croaked syllables of Eggsy’s name.

“I’m here.” Eggsy presses his face to the back of Harry’s hand. His cheek is wet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Silly boy, Harry thinks despite himself, despite the fact that Eggsy hasn’t been a boy long since — he will always be Harry’s boy, come what may. He doesn’t have much left to give for this, so Harry tries to say something else, something crucial and immeasurable, except he’s tired, so very tired, and even just the act of _being_ somehow drains him past all reason.

But he feels a nod against his hand and Eggsy’s whispered, “I know. I know you do,” so maybe he says it or doesn’t even need to for it to get across. _I love you_ , Harry thinks once more and means it with all his heart, in every way he can, just in case this really is the last time.

 

***

** _Forthcoming Marriages_ **

**_MR G.L. UNWIN_  
_AND MR H.W.C. HART_  
** _The engagement is announced between Gary, son of Michelle and the late Lee Unwin of London, and Henry, son of the late Eleanor Hart of Aylesbury and the late Ambrose Hart of Stetchworth._

***

 

“…would’ve thought you were barking mad, pissing on a bomb,” Eggsy chuckles.

Lying in bed, Harry smiles reminiscently. “A necessary course of action.”

“Necessary? You mean like when you nuked the shit out of that guy’s whole lair in Moldova?”

“I was _improvising_. And he had it coming.”

“Bet you think they all do. Even poor Professor Arnold —”

“That wasn’t even my fault!”

They share a long, good laugh at that, with silly grins and side-clutching and clapping Harry on the back as he coughs thick phlegm into a kidney dish. As he dabs Harry’s mouth clean and disposes of the tissue, Eggsy’s about to pick up the thread of their conversation again when Harry sighs, his breath thin and catching.

“I’ve lived a life,” he says softly. His tone stills Eggsy, compels him to look. “All that I’ve done, all that has happened to me — I never would have imagined, not any of it.”

Eggsy thinks. Yes, that’s sort of why he’s doing this, isn’t it? Reminding the man whom the world owes so much to of everything he’s done for it, going through each and every deed, because nobody else will know once he’s gone. But Eggsy knows. Eggsy will carry his flame for as long as he can, for the rest of his days, until it’s his time as well. Even if he’s not sure how.

“And you,” Harry’s smile is small and knowing and sad, but so grateful that Eggsy feels his throat close up against a sudden wash of tears. “Oh, Eggsy, my Eggsy. I’ve grown so old with you, haven’t I.”

“Yeah.” Eggsy swipes at his eyes before they can start to sting, winching up a smile that he knows will fool neither of them. “Me too.”

“I daresay you’ve still got quite a ways to go,” Harry chuckles. “Why, when I was your age —”

“You’d only just gotten married,” Eggsy cuts in, and Harry laughs again.

“Indeed I had,” Harry murmurs, a faraway look in his eyes. “A pity — I would have liked for us to see Paris again, together. Just one more time.”

Eggsy nods. “We will. We’ll go when you’re better.”

The way Harry looks at him makes Eggsy’s insides twist. As if Eggsy’s hands are the ones that requires warming, Harry reaches for them and holds on with both of his own. His mouth twitches, the smile going lopsided, but still wistful. “Were you happy, Eggsy? Was I, have I made you happy?”

Hands in Harry’s, Eggsy folds them closed, turns them over, thumbs stroking gently at the dry, gnarled skin stretched tight over veins and hard bone. He leans in close, lifting Harry’s hands and cradling them against his mouth to kiss his fingers, and all the while his eyes never leave Harry’s face.

“Nobody could have made me happier.”

 

***

 

_Honeymooning in Paris was a completely different experience from mere holidaying, though not for the reasons one might expect._

_“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Eggsy growled, looking up the facade of the Palais Garnier, at the flickering lights and the smoke belching from shattered windows. Of all conceivable times for neo-revolutionists to decide to make a statement — honestly, now?_

_“Needs must where duty calls,” Harry said, his voice light as he checked his — what the fuck — his gun, pulling back the slide to chamber his first round and slotting a shotgun cartridge into the lower barrel. He squared himself and turned to Eggsy, looking expectant in spite of Eggsy’s slack-jawed incredulity. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought your gun with you.”_

_If Eggsy could gawk any harder, he would. “Seriously? On our honeymoon?”_

_“Did you bring your Walther or your Sig?”_

_“…Walther.” Eggsy rolled his eyes, hating the whole wide world as he produced the firearm._

_Harry smiled. “Excellent choice. Come on, then. Let’s get to it.”_

_They were so having a second honeymoon, after this._

 

***

 

The day that Harry’s discharged from the hospital, Eggsy gets two tickets for the next train to Paris and drives them straight to the station. It’s the weekend after Christmas, and St. Pancras is less busy than usual, so even with Harry's haltering gait there’s more than enough time to amble leisurely to the platform and make it with twenty minutes to spare. On the way, Eggsy buys them stollen and a box of half-price crackers from a Marks and Spencers and they sit waiting in their designated carriage with paper crowns on their heads as they run through the crackers, swapping their trinkets and laughing at the terrible jokes and taking turns to feed each other pieces of fruitcake between successive pulls.

After the train has left the station and is en route to Gare du Nord, they talk about things to do and where they could go, old places that they could revisit and some new ones too. They’ll be spending New Year’s Eve in Paris, Harry points out, so Eggsy calls up a reservation at Le Jules Verne on the spot, which would ordinarily be impossible at such short notice, but this is one of those times where it pays to clothe people in high places, and he knows a guy. Half an hour into the journey, Harry falls asleep on Eggsy’s shoulder and when they arrive Eggsy rouses him with a series of kisses — most of them sweet but also a few little filthy ones with tongue — and as he stirs awake Harry smiles like a venerable, like a reminder to Eggsy that of all the things that matter, the one which matters most is that he’s still _here_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's safe to say I don't even know what I'm doing anymore but oh well
> 
> Still trying my hardest to delete but in the meantime, I have [Tumbler](http://fideliant.tumblr.com/).


End file.
